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by Siggy1998



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Butler, F/M, Levi is a butler, Reincarnation, Women's Rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siggy1998/pseuds/Siggy1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since she was a small child Reaper has had memories of a former life - memories of 3D maneuver gear and flight, of titans and swords, of horses and a grimy castle. Perhaps what she remembers most clearly is the man she married, Levi Ackerman. Now, three hundred years after the defeat of the titans, Reaper's mother has passed away, forcing her to live with her unfathomably wealthy uncle. However, along the way she encounters many familiar faces, including her old friends Armin and Eren who have dreams about titans and walls.<br/>Levi, better known as Alexander around his subordinates, has one of the most enviable careers imaginable - he is the head butler of the Hammond estate. His life is almost perfect, except for the fact that he can remember every single detail about his former life as a member of the Survey Corps. When Mr. Hammond's niece suddenly shows up at the estate he thinks nothing of it until he sees her face. And it's the face of the woman he married so long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Reaper’s POV

            _We ride. We ride fast and we ride hard down the hilly meadows outside the walls, Hanji leading our little group. In the distance I see Commander Erwin raise his arm and fire a flare into the sky, telling us to get into the formation. Hanji looks behind herself and gives our squad a cheery thumbs up before dragging her horse off to the right. We all follow immediately._

_I hear the thudding clops of horse hooves against the dirt, the rustle as the saddle rubs against horse hair, the roar of the wind as it flies past my ears, the echo of the Commander’s flare. I feel the cracking leather of the reins in my hands, the clumsy but graceful movements of my horse, the friction of the inside of my boot against the side of my foot, the pull of my cloak as the force of the passing air tugs it back. I smell the smoke from the flare and the clean air of the world outside the walls. I see blue sky and green capes and I taste the sweetness of spring. It would have been perfect had we not been about to enter a titan-infested forest._

_“Abnormal!” someone shouts. I think it’s Bridget, one of my squad-mates. Hanji cackles wildly, excitedly._

_“We can’t capture it, Squad Leader!” I call, knowing all too well what Hanji is thinking. I see her shoulders slump._

_“I know,” she says disappointedly. “Reaper, take it down!”_

_“On it!”_

_I drop the reins and slash my arms across my body in the air, feeling a surge of power leave my chest in the process; it’s not enough to tire me just yet, but I still feel as if a tremendous amount of energy has just left me and that I’m going to crash the moment we get back inside the walls. A large section of titan neck sloughs off from the back of the Abnormal’s head and falls to the ground with a resounding thud. The titan falls soon after. I place the reins back in my hands, shake my head, take a deep breath, and push my horse to go a little faster to keep up with the rest of my squad._

_“Nice one, Reaper!” says Hanji. Bridget echoes the statement. Hanji and Bridget are the only ones in my squad not scared of me, even though I’ve been in the Scouts for eight years now. I smile to myself, grateful that at least a few of my comrades like me and that all of them respect me. I grip the reins tighter and adjust my hands._

_Then I hear it._

_“Corporal Levi!” Petra calls in the distance. It’s terror that’s in her voice and terror that’s in my chest. I see the top of a titan’s head near the place where the Special Operations Squad was supposed to be and I almost scream._

_“Reaper,” Hanji says from beside me. I turn my head to see that she’s pulled back to ride beside me. She reaches out a hand across the gap between our horses and grabs my shoulder. “Don’t do anything. Stay focused.”_

_I nod even though I want to cry._

_“_ Corporal! _” Petra yells. I whip around to see the titan’s hand near its mouth and my own jaw drops open in a silent scream._

_The person in the titan’s hand has their arms pinned to their sides, their legs obviously crushed and dangling. Their cloak is ripped and hanging together by mere threads. The Wings of Freedom emblem is visible and I want to set it on fire._

_“Levi!” I scream._

_The black head of hair that is usually so neatly parted turns around. Even at that great distance I think I can see a sad smile on his lips, and I know he’s not afraid to die. I’ve always known that._

_The titan’s smile only grows wider as it brings my husband closer and closer to its mouth. I’m ready to kill it, to see if I can kill it from this far away, when Hanji yells at me._

_“Reaper!” she yells. “Don’t! It’s not worth it!”_

_I know what she means. She means that it’s not worth expending my precious energy on someone whose legs are crushed and useless. He’s never going to be a soldier again even if I do save him. And even though I know that and I know that being “useless” would kill him far more painfully that a titan ever could, Hanji’s words still sting._

_I grip my reins tight enough that my knuckles turn white and will myself to wake up wake up wake up wake up_ wake up _. I slam my eyes close and open them again, but the titan is still there and Levi is still in its hand and his legs are still crushed and I’m still about to watch the only man I’ll ever love die right in front of me. I fleetingly wonder if this was what Eren felt when he watched his mother die, if this was what Mikasa experienced when she saw her parents murdered, if this was what Armin felt when his grandfather was forced out of the walls. I come to the conclusion that this is worse, because Eren’s mother, Mikasa’s parents, Armin’s grandfather – none of them held my friends’ hearts in the way Levi holds mine._

_And as the titan’s teeth clamp down I feel it rip itself in half and half again._

 

            I bolted upright.

            I felt sweat sticking to my skin and running down my spine. I ran my hand over my face and felt tears. As I pushed my hair back I felt more sweat accumulating in the roots.

            Another nightmare.

            It had been so real this time.

            I looked over to the window to see that the orange sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. I sighed, disappointed that I had to get up even if I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Slipping onto the ground I padded across the dirt floor, my arms still shaking from the nightmare, until I reached my washbasin, grabbing the cloth and dipping it into the water that had gone cold overnight. I scrubbed my face and neck before squeezing out the cloth and placing it on the washbasin stand. I got into my undergarments and dress before putting on my shoes. As I was tying the laces on my shoes I looked across the hall to my mother’s now-empty room.

            My mother had had an incurable disease – or it was at least incurable for the amount of money we could afford to spend on it – and had died from it several days earlier. There had been coughing and hacking and pale skin and a bowl of mucus perpetually beside her bed. I suspected tuberculosis, but the doctor wouldn’t tell me anything. He said it was too complicated for a young woman to understand, the emphasis on _woman_. I had wanted to respond by demonstrating my knowledge of the Krebs cycle but had thought better of it, instead opting to play the demure woman for once in my life. I had been too tired to argue.

            Now that my mother was gone I was almost completely alone. My blunt nature made it impossible for me to make friends, my father had walked out on us when he found a prettier woman to marry (something the neighbors blamed my mother for, by the way), and I had no siblings. The only people I had were the ones in my questionably accurate “memories”. And George, apparently.

            “Uncle” George was George Gregory Hammond III, a man well-known for his intelligence and even more well-known for his money. I hadn’t known this until my mother passed away, but my father had been a member of an incredibly wealthy family before his own father died, leaving all property to my father’s older brother, George. That meant that I was, supposedly, George’s responsibility until I was old enough to marry off next year. And because I was George’s responsibility I was going to live with him.

            I eyed the bag I had packed the previous night, the small suitcase stuffed with books and a couple of extra dresses and a set of my father’s old clothes. It sat on a chair in the corner of my room, ready to go when they came for me, which would be any minute then. I finished tying my shoes and grabbed the bag off of the chair, going to my front room to watch for whoever was coming to get me.

            It only took ten minutes at the most. I heard the hollow clops of horse hooves against the dirt outside my house and turned to look out of the window. There, surely enough, was an ornate black carriage waiting for me. I was taken aback by the beauty of it – why did it need to be so fancy when it was just a _carriage?_ – when it dawned upon me that this was simply how George lived. He had enough money to spend on frivolous things like an ostentatious carriage. I wondered what the rest of his estate looked like.

            A boy with blonde hair and a cap dropped the reins and stepped down from the driver’s platform. He walked around to the front of the horses and nuzzled one’s face before giving it something to eat from his pocket. I smiled to myself, but my smile dropped into shock when the boy turned around.

            Jean and Marco (now named Carlisle and Jacob) had grown up in my village, so it wasn’t as if I hadn’t run into the people from my dreams; however, it was still a shock to see the blonde hair cut to his chin, ocean blue eyes, and pale, round cheeks that I knew belonged to who had once been Armin Arlert.

            I reined myself and my excitement in. Jean and Marco hadn’t remembered. There was no reason to believe that Armin would remember.

            I grabbed my suitcase’s handle and stood up from my chair, then went to the door. I looked around my house for one last time, realizing that this was going to be the last time I ever saw it. Strangely enough, I didn’t care.

            I turned the knob and walked out of the house, closing the door behind me. I still had my back turned to him when he spoke for the first time.

            “Hello, Miss Hammond,” greeted Armin. “My name is Jonathan and I’ll be your chauffer for today.”

            “Hello, Jonathan,” I said, looking down at my hands. “There’s no need to call me Miss Hammond. I’m probably younger than you, anyways.”

            I turned around and pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

            “What would you-“

            He stopped.

            When I looked at him he was staring at me, frozen except for his trembling hands. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide, and it reminded me of whenever he had come across new things in his book about the outside world. It wasn’t completely the same, however – his mouth took on a strange shape and his eyebrows rose in an expression almost reminiscent of fear.

            He was scared I didn’t remember. At least, that’s what I hoped that look meant.

            He coughed into his hand, obviously consciously willing his face to return to a more respectful expression.

            “Sorry, Miss Hammond. You just remind me of someone I used to know.”

            He remembered.

            “You can just call me Reaper, Armin,” I said, my mind going almost completely blank with awe.

            His eyes went wide again, but his mouth curled up into a beautiful wide smile.

            “You have the dreams, too,” he said. I hesitated, then nodded, still standing in front of my door holding my suitcase.

            “I have more than dreams, Armin,” I said. “I can remember it all.”

            “You mean they’re… they’re not just dreams?”

            I shook my head.

            “I don’t think so.”

            We stood stock still for several moments before we were finally able to blink and breathe.

            “Well, Reaper,” said Armin, still smiling. “Go ahead and get in and I’ll take you to Mr. Hammond’s home.”

            “Would you mind if I just put my suitcase in the carriage and sat up there with you instead?” I asked.

            “Not at all!” he exclaimed, almost laughing he seemed so happy. “Go ahead!”


	2. Chapter 2

Reaper’s POV

            I learned that Armin – Jonathan – was a stable boy at the Hammond estate. He told me that Eren was a fellow stable boy and Mikasa was training to be a maid in the house, that Eren was now called Adam and Mikasa was Anna, that Mikasa didn’t remember anything from her time as a soldier. I, in turn, told him about growing up with Jean and Marco. I recounted getting into fights with the two nearly every day, only to make up and go skip rocks on the pond minutes later. I told him how they tried to keep their relationship secret to avoid persecution, and I told him how they had both left to go off to war two months earlier. I had almost cut my hair and joined them, but my mother had coughed in the adjacent room and I realized that she needed me more than my country did.

            We rode through a forest for several hours, exchanging stories about our new childhoods and reliving the horrors of the old war. When we were almost out of the woods Armin turned to me.

            “Mr. Hammond…” he trailed. “You’ll recognize Mr. Hammond.”

            “Who is he?” I asked.

            “I don’t remember his name. My dreams aren’t as vivid as Adam’s,” he said.

            “What does he look like?”

            “He’s very tall, and he has neat blonde hair and big eyebrows-“

            “Commander Erwin,” I said, knowing instantly who it was. “If it’s eyebrows then it’s Commander Erwin.”

            “We don’t think he remembers anything. We think he’s like Anna and Jean and Marco.”

            “Are there any others?”

            “Mary is the head maid, though she functions more like a live-in doctor. Her father was a doctor and taught her the trade when she was very young, but she never went to school for it.”

            “Who is Mary?” I asked.

            “I think her name was Hanji. We think she remembers.”

            “Hanji was my squad leader,” I said. “She was insane.”

            “She’s still pretty crazy, but not when Mr. Hammond is around.”

            “I guess she finally learned how to tone it down.”

            “Anyway, there’s Mary and then Peter – Moony… Maury… Moblit! – was a butler, but he just got fired or demoted. He’s working as a waiter instead of a butler now. And then Lisa and Ellen are maids. Lisa is tall and tan and Ellen is tiny and blonde.”

            “Ymir and Krista,” I said. “Lisa is Ymir and Ellen is Krista.”

            “I think you’re right. There’s a blonde kitchen maid named Bethany – that’s Annie. And Reiner and Berthold are named Oliver and Zachary. Those two are older than Adam, Anna, and I. They’re training to be butlers.”

            “Why are all of us with Commander Erwin – or Mr. Hammond? Why wouldn’t we be dispersed?” I asked.

            “Maybe it’s fate trying to work us back together. Maybe we have some unfinished business,” he offered.

            I hummed.

            “Is there anyone else?”

            Armin shook his head.

            “Not that I know of. I’m fairly new at the estate, so I haven’t seen everyone yet. Mr. Hammond employs around one hundred servants.”

            “A hundred?”

            He nodded.

            “That’s ridiculous.”

            “I know, but it’s actually fairly necessary with how big of an estate it is and how many parties he throws.”

            “Parties?” I asked, internally groaning. “How many are we talking about? Like once every couple of months?”

            “Like once every week.”

            “ _Shit_ ,” I said before correcting myself. “Shoot. Sorry. Soldier’s habit.”

            “Don’t worry. Adam says he’s been swearing like that since before he had even heard swear words.”

            “Do you think he’ll make me attend any of them?” I asked.

            “I’m just a stable boy. I don’t know what his parties are like,” he said. “Although, just by the way he acts, I’d say that most of his parties are more like business meetings. There probably wouldn’t be much of a place for a woman.”

            “As much as I’m insulted I’m also relieved,” I said. Armin laughed.

             “Sorry. That’s just how business tends to be – male dominated. Not that that’s a good thing.”

            Armin tugged on the reins and we turned a corner, finally exiting the forest. In front of us now lay rolling hills and a road criss-crossing them. Said road led up to a grand estate surrounded by tall trees and decorated with fountains and meticulously-landscaped gardens. There was the main house – huge in and of itself – which reminded me all too much of the Survey Corps’ castle headquarters, with turrets and tan stone; there were what appeared to be hedged gardens, though I couldn’t see inside due to the tall hedges obscuring the view; there was a large stable protruding out from behind the house; there was a small lake down the hill from the estate; and there was a large courtyard in front of everything, dark grey and cobblestoned and with a fountain in its center. Even from the distance at which I was seeing it it was incredible. My thoughts drifted back to my time in the Scouts, to the time when I lived with the military in a castle not so unlike this one.

            “Whoa,” I said eloquently. Armin stifled a snort.

            “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s pretty nice.”

            His eyes went wide for a second before he pulled on the reins, halting the horses and stopping the carriage.

            “What’s wrong?” I asked.

            “Mr. Hammond won’t like it if he sees me talking with you,” he explained. “You’re in the upper class now. You need to get in the carriage.”

            It was strange to think of myself as being in the upper class; I had lived all of this life in a poor country hamlet. But Armin was right – interclass friendships weren’t exactly smiled upon in the society in which we now lived.

            I sighed and jumped off of the driver’s bench. Turning back to Armin, I spoke.

            “Just for the record I don’t think we’re in different classes,” I said. “We’ll always be soldiers.”

            He smiled and I got into the carriage, staying letting the carriage shield me from the sun for the rest of the journey.

            When I felt the road change I peeked through the carriage’s curtains. I saw that we were now on the cobblestone courtyard in front of the main house. There was a butler that I didn’t recognize waiting for us – for _me_ – when Armin brought the carriage to a stop in front of the main door. I was about to open the carriage door myself when someone else did it from the outside. The door popped open and the man appeared in the open doorway, offering his white-gloved hand to me.

            “Miss Hammond,” he greeted me with a polite smile. I managed to smile back.

            I hesitantly placed my hand in his own and he helped me out of the carriage, grabbing my suitcase for me even after I protested. When I was out of the vehicle I quickly retracted my hand from the butler’s. I surreptitiously waved goodbye to Armin and the stable boy responded with a small wave of his own before whipping the reins and driving the carriage out of sight.

            “Miss Hammond?” the butler asked. I started but looked back at him. I realized that I must have been watching Armin leave instead of following the butler.

            “Sorry,” I apologized. “I’m coming now.”

            The butler gave me another friendly smile and I returned it. He then began to walk towards the main entrance of the house, a staircase with a large set of double doors. Once at the doors he held one open for me, letting me pass through ahead of him.

            Inside the house was incredible, and it really wasn’t any stretch to call it a mansion. It had a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a kind of indoor balcony looking over the entrance hall with a grand staircase on either side, a gigantic rock fireplace with ornate furniture surrounding it, and several large doorways leading into other areas of the house. I almost froze when I realized that the rug I was standing on probably cost more than my childhood home.

            The butler continued to lead me through the house, first taking me down a long hallway lined with portraits of whom I supposed were Hammonds long dead. When we reached the end of that hall I saw a painting of a man who looked exactly like whom I had come to know as Commander Erwin. The butler coughed to get my attention before bringing me down another series of hallways.

            The end of our journey took the form of a pair of large wooden doors at the end of a hallway.

            “This is your uncle’s study,” the butler explained to me. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s in here, so don’t come here alone, but he requested that you be brought to him upon your arrival.”

            I nodded to show I understood and the butler knocked on the door three times in rapid succession. A muffled “come in” sounded through the wood and the man pushed against it, revealing a decent sized room lined with mahogany bookshelves which were stuffed with thick-spined books to the point of burgeoning. A rich wooden desk sat in front of a large window that overlooked the back gardens, and a tall man with neatly-combed blonde hair stood looking out of it. He held a book open in one of his large hands and a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles sat atop his nose.

            The butler led me to the middle of the room before the man – I assumed that this was dear old Uncle George – turned to acknowledge us.

            “Thank you, Ralph,” he said. “That will be all.”

            The butler bowed, placed my battered suitcase beside me, and left, leaving me alone and completely at the mercy of this powerful man. I swallowed and wanted to bolt, but then Commander Erwin – _Uncle_ _George_ , dammit – smiled at me. It was a kind smile, one I remembered seeing him wear often, and it instantly made me feel better. I couldn’t say that I felt _great_ , but I felt a hell of a lot better than I had walking into the study.

            “So you’re my brother’s daughter,” he said.

            “That would seem to be the case, sir,” I said before I could stop myself. I hoped that hadn’t been too disrespectful. I’d used “sir.”

            His smile turned amused. I was safe.

            “Abigail, is that right?” he asked. I shook my head.

            “No, sir. Arabella,” I said, though it tasted wrong on my tongue. I was Reaper or Zoralee, not fucking _Arabella_.

            “Arabella,” he repeated. “My brother named you well. It’s a very pretty name.”

            “Thank you, sir,” I said. My mother had named me. My father had wanted to name me Gretchen.

            “You look uncomfortable,” he observed. “Why is that?”

            “I’ve never been in such a nice house before, sir,” I said. _I have no idea if you remember me_. “I’m not sure where I can and can’t put my feet.”

            “Well you can place your whole body in one of the chairs in front of my desk,” Erwin – _George –_ said.

            “Thank you, sir,” I said, taking him up on his offer. I grabbed my suitcase and brought it up to his desk, sitting down in a comfortable armchair. Once I had settled myself in – ankles crossed, hands in my lap, suitcase beside my feet – Erwin spoke again.

            “I haven’t heard from my brother in six years,” he said, closing his book with one hand and sitting down on the windowsill. “The last time we corresponded he told me that he was leaving his wife, and if anything were to happen to her before his daughter was old enough to marry, that he would like me to take care of his daughter. I hadn’t been aware that he’d had a child, and by looking at you he had had you for quite some time before he wrote that letter.”

            “ _Maybe he_ did _care,_ ” I muttered to myself, hopefully low enough that he wouldn’t notice. But damn his impeccable hearing.

            “Did you say something?” he asked. I rapidly shook my head.

            “No, sir,” I said. “Please continue.”

            “Alright,” he said. “Where was I?”

            “My father had had me for a while before he wrote the letter,” I prompted.

            “Thank you. I was just about to ask how old you are.”

            “I’m fifteen, sir.”

            “And may I ask what exactly happened to your mother?”

            I nodded.

            “The doctor wouldn’t tell me anything,” I said. “But I suspect tuberculosis.”

            “How do you know about tuberculosis?”

            _Shit_.

            I knew about tuberculosis from my time in the Survey Corps library talking with Armin. He had taught me about various different diseases while reading through old medical handbooks. But, as a fifteen-year-old girl from a poor country village with no access to formal education, there was no way I could have learned about tuberculosis except through a doctor, and I had already told him that the doctor had refused to tell me anything. I couldn’t just tell this new uncle that I knew about illnesses from a past life. That was one of the quickest ways to get me shipped off to the asylum in Stohess.

            “I found a medical handbook and read it,” I said instead, lying. “My mother’s doctor left it after coming to our house one day.”

            “I see. And why did this doctor refuse to inform you about your mother’s illness?”

            This man really knew how to ask the hard-hitting questions – everything I didn’t want to talk about.

            “Because I’m female, sir,” I said, hopefully not grinding the words through my teeth.

            He hummed in recognition.

            “The female inferiority idea,” he said. “I personally don’t buy it.”

            I looked up from my hands – when had my gaze gone to my lap? – and stared at him, eyes wide. I had met very few people in this life who believed men and women were equal, and none of them had been adults.

            “I don’t buy it either, sir,” I said.

            “That’s good to hear. Maybe you’ll take more of an interest in your studies, then.”

            “Studies?” I asked hopefully.

            “I’ve arranged for you to have a tutor for your time here. She knows mainly literature, history, and etiquette, but I’m sure she would be able to teach you some simple algebra. That’s a kind of mathematics.”

            “I know, sir,” I said.

            “How?”

            _Shit_ , I was messing up.

            “I have a knack for finding books about different subjects. They seem to find me rather than the other way around,” I lied.

            “I’m glad to hear you’ve taken an interest in your education. Most young women of your age that I’ve encountered are more interested in sewing and baking.”

            “My mother tried to teach me to bake,” I said. “I caught the dough on fire the moment I set it in the oven.”

            The man chuckled to himself and placed the closed book on his desk.

            “I take it that you’re not one for what would traditionally be called women’s work.”

            I shook my head.

            “No sir,” I said. “The only housework I can do with relative decency is laundry. My mother used to exile me from the house during the day.”

            “What would you do if not housework?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely interested in me.

            I looked down at my hands.

            “When I was little I would play with a couple of boys that also lived in the hamlet. When I got older we still spent time together, but we practiced fighting more than playing. They wanted to go off to war.”

            “Roughhousing with boys, hm? Somehow I’m not surprised,” he said. Looking up, I saw he had a bemused smile on his face. I got the impression that he liked me.

            _Just wait until I run my mouth._

            “Is there anything specific you would like to learn during your time here?” he asked me. “I’m sure we could find a more suitable mathematics tutor, or perhaps someone to tutor you in the sciences or geography.”

            “Maybe mathematics,” I said. “But I’d really… When you said that you didn’t but that women were inferior to men, did you mean that you think women should be allowed to do the same things as men?”

            “I do believe that, yes.”

            “Then I’d like to learn to fence, if that’s okay.”

            Erwin’s – _George’s_ – large eyebrows rose.

            “I don’t know how feasible that is, Arabella,” he said. “It would be difficult to find someone willing to teach a woman math or science, but it would be nearly impossible to find someone willing to teach a woman to fence with the country’s attitudes about women the way they are.”

            My heart sank, but I nodded.

            “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

            “That’s not to say I won’t try,” he added. “It will just be difficult.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            “Is there anything else you’d like to do while you’re here?”

            “Are your horses ridable or do you keep them mainly as pets?” I asked.

            “They are ridable. I take it that you’d like to ride.” I nodded. “That can be arranged. Anything else?”

            “No sir.”

            “Very well then. If there is anything you’d like to do don’t hesitate to inform me of your wishes. I will do all in my power to make sure you are happy here.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            The blonde man stood from his seat on the windowsill and strode over to a device on the wall, a device comprised of many buttons and lots of metal. He pressed a button marked with a number ten and resumed sitting, this time in his desk chair.

            “What does that do?” I asked, nodding towards the device.

            “That allows me to call my staff without shouting for them,” he explained. “Alexander should be here to lead you to your room any moment now.”

            “Alexander?”

            “Alexander Bloodworth is the head butler here at the Hammond estate. He’s a bit young for his profession but he is an outstanding coordinator.”

            I nodded to show that I understood.

            “You will have one of these contraptions,” he said, gesturing to the device on the wall, “in your own room. You can call a member of the staff at any time, day or night, and they will do whatever you wish as long as it’s not embarrassing or degrading to them.”

            I nodded again. I wanted to ask him what kind of business he ran, and exactly how many staff members he employed, and if I would be required to attend any of his godforsaken parties, but I couldn’t get my mouth to move or my voice to work. Instead, we sat in silence for about five minutes, Erwin – George, Mr. Hammond, whatever – looking back out of the window. There were three quick knocks on the door.

            “Come in,” said George.

            One of the doors creaked open behind me and soft footsteps padded across the rug-covered floor.

            “Ah, Alexander,” my uncle said. “Thank you. Would you please escort my niece to her room?”

            “Of course, Mr. Hammond.”

            I froze in my chair.

            _I know that voice_.

            I slowly turned in my chair, trying not to seem too strange (I probably failed, but I didn’t really care at the moment). When I finally laid eyes on this Alexander I couldn’t breathe.

            He was short, probably only an inch or two taller than my slight frame. He wore a crisp white shirt, a dark grey vest, slim black pants, and black dress shoes, the chain of a pocket watch draping from a button into his vest’s pocket. He had thick black hair and high cheekbones, unnaturally pale skin and large hands, thin lips and gunmetal blue eyes that I had gotten lost in more times than I was comfortable admitting. He was damn good-looking, but that wasn’t what I was concentrating on. What I was really concentrated on was who this had been in my past life.

            This was Levi. I had found him.

            The only question that remained was if he remembered me.

            When I turned around to face him I watched to see if there was any spark of recognition in his eyes, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach when I saw that there wasn’t. He merely bowed slightly at the waist.

            “Would you follow me, Miss Hammond?” he asked deferentially.

            “O-okay,” I said, my voice faltering. I wanted to cry.

            I stood and took up my suitcase, turning back to Erwin – or _George_.

            “Thank you… What should I call you, sir?”

            “Uncle George will be fine,” he said, another kind smile on his lips. I wasn’t able to return it this time.

            “Thank you, Uncle George,” I said before turning around to face Levi. Alexander. Levi.

            “Are you ready?” asked the butler. I nodded. “Then follow me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Levi’s POV

            I was in the basement of the Hammond estate doling out daily duties to the house servants when the service bell rang. Several of the newer butlers jumped at the sound before quickly calming themselves down.

            “Oliver, Zachary, you two help the housekeepers get the guest rooms in the servants’ quarters ready. Mr. Abney and his servants should be arriving within the next two days,” I said hastily before tucking my notebook under my arm and going to see who had rung the bell. The call system indicated that the call had come from Mr. Hammond’s study.

            I held in a huff. Did Erwin – Mr. Hammond – not know I was always busy at noon?

            I went back to the little group of servants which had been gathered around me and handed my notebook to one of the under-butlers.

            “All your assignments are in here. This is the only page you’ll need, so do not flip through at your own leisure,” I said, walking towards the exit to the servants’ quarters and rolling down my sleeves. I buttoned the cuffs, fingers dexterous from years of doing so, before pulling my gloves from my pocket and beginning to slip them on.

            “Um, Mr. Bloodworth?” someone called. I turned around while maneuvering my hand into my right glove, annoyed but hopefully looking indifferent. It was Muriel, a young housekeeper with a knack for polishing silver and baking pies out of the berries that grew behind the stables. “I don’t have an assignment listed.”

            “Go see if there is any spare silver to polish,” I said. “If not then see if you can help in the kitchens.”

            Her face lit up and I knew she was thinking about eating baked scraps of pie dough. I remembered that she had a thing for potatoes in the Survey Corps and I fleetingly wondered if that was only because she had never tasted sugar.

            I turned on my heel and opened the door, coming face-to-face with the staircase that would lead me out of the basement. I took a step and began the journey.

            Once out of the stairwell I emerged in the kitchens, which were located on the main floor adjacent to the dining room. I navigated my way out of the kitchens and down hallways until I reached Mr. Hammond’s study. I knocked thrice on the right-hand door.

            “Come in,” came Mr. Hammond’s voice through the door. I pushed it in.

            Mr. Hammond’s study never ceased to amaze me, even if I had been a butler in the house for ten years and the head butler for three. It was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves which were stuffed to the brim with books, probably history and law (I had never had the gall to ask); a dark, wide desk with ornate feet sat in front of a titanic picture window which overlooked the back gardens; an expensive Persian rug graced the wooden floors. The cost of the contents of the study probably exceeded what I would make over the course of my entire life.

            Mr. Hammond himself was sitting in his desk chair and looking out of the window, and young woman occupied one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Said young woman had a battered suitcase sitting by her feet and a black bun of hair pinned to the back of her head, a worn but not tattered dress and a pale neck. I thought it odd that Mr. Hammond would interview a potential servant himself; Mary and I were the ones in charge of hiring.

            “Ah, Alexander,” said Mr. Hammond. “Thank you. Would you please escort my niece to her room?”

            _His niece_. He had told me that his brother had had a child who was coming to live with him, but I hadn’t expected her to be so poorly dressed. I supposed Mr. Hammond’s brother had left the wealthy life and had a daughter with a poor woman.

            “Of course, Mr. Hammond,” I replied with a deferential bow of my head. When the sentence had left my mouth his niece stiffened in her chair, presumably because she was unused to servants.

            Then she turned around in her seat and it took everything in me to remain neutral.

            It wasn’t just the fact that she was beautiful – which she was, _my God_. It wasn’t just the fact that she had black hair, pale skin, high cheekbones, rosy lips, and icy blue eyes. No, what made me nearly shit my pants was the fact that this was Reaper, and, aside from the trepidation in her eyes, she was exactly as she had been when we had first met.

            And she was Mr. Hammond’s niece this time around.

            _Shit_.

            I kept my face impassive, instead asking Reaper – Mr. Hammond’s niece, the girl, not Reaper – to follow me.

            “O-Okay,” she stammered, picking her suitcase up by its handle and standing up. She turned to Mr. Hammond upon standing. “Thank you… What should I call you, sir?”

            “Uncle George will be fine,” said my employer, a kind smile on his face.

            “Thank you, Uncle George,” she said, then turned back to me.

            “Are you ready?” I asked. She nodded. “Then follow me.”

            I led the girl out of the study and down several halls. We passed Hammond family portraits, concealed servants’ passages, decorative vases on pedestals, ornate and rich tapestries, branching hallways upon branching hallways, empty picture frames awaiting paintings, and a multitude of windows overlooking the estate. We came to a staircase and I took the stairs two at a time, waiting at the top for her to catch up. I led her down several more passageways until we came to a stop in front of an elegantly-carved wooden door with an oblong gilded doorknob.

            “This will be your room, Miss Hammond,” I said. She nodded.

            “Thank you… Do I call you ‘sir’ or ‘Alexander?’” she asked.

            “Alexander,” I said. She swallowed.

            “Thank you, Alexander,” she said quietly, looking down at the suitcase which she held in her hands. “And please don’t call me Miss Hammond. It doesn’t feel right.”

            “What would you prefer to be called?”

            “Arabella,” she said. It sounded like she had to bite the word in half just to get it out. “ _Miss_ Arabella only if you have to.”

            “It would be more appropriate to call you Miss Arabella,” I said.

            “Okay, then.”

            “Are you going to open the door?”

            “Yeah,” she said with a start, reaching a hand out to grab the doorknob. Her hand was shaking intensely. “Sorry.”

            “Are you feeling alright?” I asked, eying her hand. “We have the equivalent of a doctor on staff if you feel ill.”

            “No. I’m fine,” she said. “Just nervous. I’ve never been in a place like this before. I feel like I have to wash my hands before I touch anything.”

            I contained a chuckle. Miss Arabella finally turned the knob and pushed in the door, revealing a decently sized room with a four-poster curtained bed. There was green and gold decorative wallpaper hung on the walls, a set of white sheets on the bed, a washbasin stand topped with granite, a nightstand on the bed’s right side, a large wardrobe beside the washbasin, and a soft bench at the foot of the bed. A dark rug padded the floors and rich drapes hung in front of the large window overlooking the stables.

            It looked as if she had to force herself to go in.

            “It’s so much,” she said. “No one needs this much.”

            I hummed, not really sure how to respond but hoping I came across as indifferent.

            “In the wardrobe you’ll find clothes for you to wear during your stay. They may not fit, but we have a seamstress on staff to tailor them. Judging from your stature you’ll probably need it.”

            She placed her battered tan suitcase on the bench and stared out the window. The afternoon sun shone on her face and silhouetted stray strands of dark hair in a wash of white light, and I couldn’t help but think that she looked far more innocent and young and scared than she had when I had known her.

            There was no way she remembered.

            I tried not to let my heart sink into the soles of my feet. It wasn’t as if I would be able to be with her even if she _did_ remember me. She was in the upper class and I was a servant, she was so young and I was thirty-four, she was now destined to marry a nobleman and I was married to my profession.

            She turned back to me and I struggled to catch my breath.

            “Thank you, s- Alexander.” Once again she had to bite out the name.

            “I’ll take my leave. Do not hesitate to call for staff if you need assistance,” I said, gesturing towards the call device on the wall near the wardrobe. She followed my gaze and nodded, and I couldn’t help but admire the stretch of her pale neck.

            I backed away and closed the door. Once it was closed I rested my forehead against the wood and exhaled through my nose.

            It was noon, hours from Hanji and I’s nightly meeting, but I needed to see her before I exploded. So I pulled away from the door and made my way back down corridors and halls and passageways until I was back in the kitchens. I rushed down the stairs and into the servants’ area, hoping against hope that Hanji would be in her room.

            I found my way to her door and knocked several times. I was about to turn away and look for her in some other area of the house when the door opened to reveal Hanji’s cheery face.

            “Mary,” I greeted evenly.

            “Alexander!” she said excitedly. “I was just about to come and find you! One of my seamstresses just showed me a design for Mr. Hammond’s niece! I swear this little seamstress could design for the ladies is Stohess!”

            Hanji grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the room. I closed the door behind me and stood in front of it, finally letting my shoulders slump and back curl forward. The head maid scurried over to the little table that functioned as her desk and grabbed several sheets of paper before rushing back over to me. She shoved the paper in my face and I had to fight her off.

            “ _Christ_ , Hanji,” I said. “It’s not like it has little titans printed all over it.”

            She giggled manically and urged me to look at the drawings on the paper. I looked down and I couldn’t say I wasn’t impressed. I was no expert in ladies’ fashion but I found the dress to be aesthetically pleasing and the sketches themselves to be well-drawn, though I highly doubted that Reaper – _Miss Arabella_ , dammit – would want to wear something so… fancy. Grand. Intricate. Expensive.

            I handed the papers back to Hanji.

            “They’re very nice,” I said. I felt exhausted despite having gotten a full seven hours of sleep for once.

            “They’re beautiful! I want the niece to get fitted for it as soon as possible!”

            _The niece._

            I walked sluggishly over to the chair that sat in front of the small window and plopped down in it. When in Hanji’s room I tended to say fuck all to propriety and relax my muscles, but this was a new low, my limbs sprawled out across the chair like I was a child making a snow angel. Hanji must have noticed because she gently placed the sketches down on her desk and leaned her hip against the footboard of her bead.

            “Okay, Levi. You never do this,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She reminded me of a mother, though I wanted to cringe at the thought of small Hanjis running around the estate. “What’s going on?”

            I turned my head to look out the window. It wasn’t the best view in the house but it was still nice, looking out at the road leading up to the front of the estate.

            “Reaper’s here,” I said weakly.

            “Really!?” Hanji exclaimed. “Oh my God! You found her!”

            She began bustling about the room, indulging in her own fantasies about weddings and babies while I was weighing the pros and cons of various methods of suicide. When she finally noticed that I wasn’t bursting with joy she came back down to earth.

            “Why aren’t you happy?” she asked before her eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t remember, does she?”

            I shook my head.

            “I don’t think so,” I said.

            “You don’t _think_ so? Well, that leaves open the possibility that she does! Let’s go and find out! Where is she working now? I bet she’s in the kitchens. Let’s go down to the kitchens and-“

            “ _Hanji_ ,” I interrupted her. “She doesn’t work here.”

            “Then how did you find her?” she asked, genuinely confused.

            “It’s her,” I said hoarsely. “She’s Erwin’s niece.”

            Her face fell in sympathy.

            “Oh, Levi,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

            I knew I was going to cry if I didn’t pull myself together soon, so I gathered in my limbs and sat up in the chair, back straight. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, grimaced, and then pulled my hands away. When that was done I stood from my seat.

            “Was that all you wanted to talk about?” she asked me. I nodded.

            “I needed to get that off my chest before I imploded.”

            “If you ever need to talk about it-“

            “I know. I’ll find you.”

            She gave me a sympathetic nod as I let myself out, softly closing the door behind me.

            I was the head butler at one of the wealthiest estates outside the old walls, a job which came with responsibilities like planning all parties and gatherings, coordinating the staff’s daily tasks, serving meals, polishing silver, and being at the beck and call of Mr. Hammond twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. I didn’t have the time or the patience for any fantasies about running away with my employer’s charge. But even then I couldn’t help but picture her on our wedding day in our past lives, how she would look if it were to happen again.

            I took a deep breath and adjusted my left glove.

            I had a job to do, and that job was head butler. I resolved to put _Miss Arabella_ out of my head and out of my heart. It wasn’t like she remembered anyway. And from the timidity I had witnessed in her I couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t the same person as she used to be.


End file.
